Free Perfect Blend: A Novel by Sue Margolis Page A

fare, faced with competition from a corporate coffee giant whose prices were so much lower.
    By now the woman pushing the buggy had gone by. Amy emerged from the scaffolding tunnel. As she reached the entrance to the old cinema, she slowed down. The building was massive, she thought. Way too big for a coffee shop. It made no sense.
    Just then she noticed a man about her own age standing in the doorway, his gray suit accessorized by a yellow hard hat. He was carrying a clipboard and jotting down notes. Amy went up to him. “Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, happening to notice that he was writing on paper with a Bean Machine letterhead. “But is Bean Machine really opening here—in this building?”
    He looked up at her. “Yes. Underneath the new offices.”
    So Bean Machine was sharing the space. That made sense. “Bloody hell,” Amy murmured. Talk about the perfect spot. Not only would Bean Machine cater to all the office employees upstairs, its position opposite the station meant it would grab all the commuters. Brian would lose all his early-morning trade. And since the mighty Bean Machine could afford to undercut Brian’s prices by miles, it would probably steal most of his other trade, too.
    Amy asked, “Do you happen to know when Bean Machine is due to open?”
    “A few weeks. The moment the builders move out, the shop fitters move in.”
    “I see. As soon as that.”
    She must have looked troubled because the chap asked her if she was all right.
    “Yes, I’m fine.” She offered him a meek smile and carried on toward Tesco.
    She bought the dishwasher detergent, but in her rush to get back to Café Mozart, she completely forgot about picking up lasagne from the deli.
    In the end, she decided to wait until the lunchtime rush was over before telling Brian about Bean Machine.
    By half past two the place was empty. Brian was standing behind the counter, talking on his mobile. He was trying to get through to the biscotti people to find out why the weekly order hadn’t arrived. Zelma was sweeping the floor. She never did it when customers were around because she felt that it put them off their coffee and cake.
    Amy hovered, waiting for Brian to finish his call. Eventually he flipped down the lid on his phone.
    “Bri, have you got a minute? I need to talk to you.”
    “Sounds ominous,” he said, shoving the phone into his jeans pocket.
    When she’d finished telling him, he seemed confused more than anything.
    “But I’ve had no letter from the council. If another coffee shop were opening so close, I might well have the right to raise a formal objection. Are you absolutely sure about this?”
    Zelma, who had been eavesdropping, came across and said he should get on to the “authorities” and demand to speak to the “head one.”
    “Look,” Amy said, “the guy I spoke to was from Bean Machine. Surely he should know. And there was a bloomin’ great sign up.”
    Brian ran his hand through his thicket of hair. “Bean Machine is a huge multinational. They can undercut us by at least twenty or even thirty percent. We’re fucked.”
    “Excuse your French,” Zelma said, “but why don’t you just undercut them?”
    “I can’t afford to,” Brian came back. “I only buy the best fair-trade organic beans. They don’t come cheap. My profit margin is as low as I can get it.”
    “Look, darling, if it would help, I have a few thousand I could lend you. Then you could bring down your prices.”
    Brian managed a smile. “Thanks, Zelma. I really appreciate the offer, but it would take more than a few thousand quid to compete with Bean Machine.”
    “But an organic, ethically sourced product matters to some people,” Amy piped up, desperate to say something reassuring, even if she didn’t really believe it. “We might lose a few customers, but the rest will stay loyal, I’m sure. And our food is fantastic. Have you ever tasted a Bean Machine cheese food and Marmite panini?”
    “Come